Through a Looking Glass
by TheGreatOtaku
Summary: A story of the Cheshire cat, and his punishment for his crimes against the Black Queen. Written for a prompt on SHINE


_**Author's Notes:  
**This story was originally written for a contest thingy on SHINE. The prompt was to do incorporate a given quote and do a genre switch of the series (or whatever else) we chose to write on, and because I'm so creative, I chose to go from romance to fantasy. You can guess what this is basically about. orz_

_I'm really only putting this up here to show that I'm not dead and that I have been busy with other things. I've been having a horrible time with_ 50 Ways To Express Love_... What sucks the most is that I have a few chapters done after chapter 23, but 23 just isn't coming at all. OTL If you've been reading that, then I do hope to have it up by the end of the month, but I'm not promising anything... I don't want to blab too much here... Anyway.._

_Here ya go._

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_Through a Looking-Glass_

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He does not fully understand why he is there; no one will explain. Out of everything he should feel at that moment—everything that would make sense to feel—the cat feels lonely. He reasons that he should feel nervous. He should feel anxious. He should be afraid. But none of those feelings stay for too long in his heart as he reasons that the Queen is acting out of line, over reacting to a simple misunderstanding. There is no arguing over the matter anymore, however. He had tried to prove his innocence in front of the court, but the cat had only managed to dig his grave deeper than it already was for him. So he sits on the cold, stone floor of that prison cell, simply waiting. There is nothing else to do when one is sentenced to, what the Queen had stated, extermination—execution, as he sees it.

The Cheshire cat reasoned a long time ago that he simply felt lonely because the only companion he has to keep him company was a dusty old looking glass that he could barely reach. The chain around his neck—he had been using his fading yellow scarf to cushion the rusting metal against his skin—was only a few short meters of length; it did not even reach the cell door. It seems a mockery. _Why would they put a looking glass in a prison cell?_ He often finds himself wondering that, but he soon realizes there is not much of a point trying to figure it out when one only has so long. The looking glass still mocks him every day, every moment he spends in front of it. It is not out of vanity that he finds himself sitting in front of the glass, but it was out of desperation for a companion.

The days dragged on and he often wonders why he did not try to escape. The hook for the chain is horribly rusted and, with enough force, he could possibly pull it free from the wall and attempt to climb up to the high window in his cell. The cat never tried though. However much he disagreed to the punishment, he would accept it. He also felt, as odd as it was too him, that if he did leave he would have this feeling of guilt weighing him down. Not for running from his punishment, but for leaving his new friend. That was ridiculous, he knew. How could a looking glass—the reflection—become so close to him? It is outrageous to think that he could become so attached, so intrigued by a simple, dirty, old looking glass. But he did.

There were days when the entire prison was completely silent. Today, just like the other half of the time, there was the sound of someone crying, a young woman possibly. The sounds seemed to come from nowhere, the walls themselves perhaps. The cat could not tell which way down the hall it could have been coming from, and he gave up trying to figure it out. He had grown used to it, used to ignoring the sobbing. If he did not know where it was, then there was no reason for him to try to get some kind of communication between them, he concluded. He knows it will stop soon enough, whether for the day or longer. They both just have to wait.

Waiting is the thing that kills him the most. He simply wastes his time in front of that looking glass, and every second that passes he can feel himself lose it more and more. Every second, he feels that much closer to death. Suddenly he felt anxious. His friend has the same look on his face and it only provokes the feeling to seep out more. There is a realization finally that he is going to die for an unjust reason and is going to lose everything he holds dear. Suddenly, he does not want to simply accept that fate. His hands grab at the old rusted chain and hopes that the plan he had discarded so many days ago will at least work to some extent.

He has been pulling on that chain for a long time now, and there has been no success in even budging the bolts from where they stay fastened. The cat really is caged in and there is no hope of getting out of this place alive anymore. His hands ache, burn from where the chain as been. They are stained that horrible rusted color and only a few of the fingertips bleed just enough to leave small drops on the cold floor from trying to pull at the handle itself and getting caught between chains. All that work and no good results.

He lies in front of that looking glass, and all he sees is a very pitiful sight. No longer does he see his only companion in the reflection, but himself; the broken down, pitiful cat that he has become due to his own ignorance and brash selfishness. The stinging in the back of his eyes is not the dust that had settled. He wants to cry. Finally, he is scared.

There is the sound of footsteps echoing through the long corridor and he does not know what to think. He is not sure if those footsteps come for him, or the young woman who has stopped crying. Adrenaline is rushing through him and he wants to try to get away again. He knows better now, though. Trying again would only be more painful in the end because he would never accept it then. The cat had accepted his fate so long ago. He wonders what made him change all of a sudden.

Then there is a realization. He accepted it because he had nothing to lose. There was nothing keeping him here, nothing tying him down, urging him to fight. The cat lived for the moment and had no relations for himself. It was only in this God forsaken place that he comes to realize that there is something for him to fight for, something that he wants to live for. He wants a second chance. Not to give peace to that crying young woman, nor the looking glass that had given him a friend all this time; he wants that second chance for himself. He cannot stop the tears from falling anymore. The reflection, even though it has not chanced much, does not seem so pitiful anymore. It gives him some hope, and the footsteps finally stop. There are some people at the prison cell gate and it screeches as it is pushed open. He is scared, but he is not _afraid_ anymore.

Just behind him a velvet-like voice commands that he stand. The cat does not respond for the longest of time—it feels longer than his stay. He drags himself up after the woman commands again and he refuses eye contact for the moment. There is silence between the two, and the cat has to wonder why the Queen is down in the prison chambers for him. He is just a lowly cat. Was his crime that great that it demands this much attention? To the Queen, it is.

A cold, firm hand reaches out and grabs at the cat's chin forcing him to look into fitting cold, grey eyes of the Queen. She remains silent as she looks over him, noticing the sudden change in him and contemplating if it was good or bad. Her hand leaves him as soon as she comes to the conclusion that she does not care whichever one it is and signals to the guardsmen that had come with her to undo the chains so she may properly give the cat his sentencing. The rusted old chains fall to the floor with clanks and rattles, and he cannot help but feel that it is odd to have them off. He had grown so used to the feeling of them weighing him do for so long. The guardsmen leaves and the Queen stares down the cat for the longest time.

Finally she speaks, and asks if there is anything he wants to say in his defense. The cat knows it is useless to try and argue now and so he remains silent, only gazing at the looking glass to his side. The Queen of course notices this and comments on how attached he has become to just a simple object, and how vain of an object it is. A cord is struck within him and he wants to bark back at the woman; but he remembers that he is in prison and she is the one in total control on how he leaves. He can feel the awful grin of the beautiful woman and it angers him more. He still refuses to say anything.

If there is nothing he can say, the Queen continues on, then she must make her final decision on how he is to be punished. She had been waiting for this day for as long as he had. Sooner or later she knew he would break down; the resolve of one cannot last forever and she intended to exploit that weakness of every man through this cat. He had suffered that moment of uncertainty well enough for her to be satisfied, but she knew that she still had to leave him with something that would remind him of his brash, thoughtless behavior in the past.

Her hand comes up again and rests atop the cat's head. It feels odd. It feels almost comforting in a way. That, he figured, was from the lack of any kind of touch from someone else for so long. Anything would feel nice at this time. His tears have stopped and he can feel the slight relief in his body as he comes to accept everything again. There is no use in arguing with a power higher than his own. Her fingers clench the hair and the sudden pain takes him by surprise. If he chooses to live with the _decisions_, the Queen tells him, then he must be willing to live with _himself_; only time can tell if he honestly can handle such a burden. The choice was his long ago, she goes on.

Everything seems so wrong at that moment. He is probably letting her words get to him, but he realizes that he has been living his life all wrong. He has wasted his life on petty things, self-indulgences, and none of them have gotten him anywhere. It is horribly wrong that the one thing that gave him some kind of hope for a better future is the one thing that could not be a better symbol of vanity.

He feels himself being thrown toward the looking glass and he waits for the impact, the sound of shattering glass—hope. It never comes. All there is for a moment is a quick flash and the feeling of unfamiliar warmth and softness, that of grass on a beautiful day, and the sound of gasps from a voice that he found so familiar. A sudden feeling of panic overtakes him as he sits up and sees the looking glass that he has taken such a fondness for. But there is no reflection in the glass; only the sight of the Black Queen staring back at him. She raises her staff strikes the looking glass, shattering it in front of him. The fragments turn black and there is no hope of restoring it. The cat suddenly feels like crying and this time he is not sure why. The feeling of a warm hand, one that he thinks is so familiar to him, tentatively rests on his shoulder from behind. He does not react at first but soon turns toward the one trying to comfort him. His eyes lock with a strikingly identical pair of amber; his mirror image was sitting with him, looking both concerned and awestruck.

The choices were his to make from the very beginning. The cat cannot help but feel that this is his second chance to not waste his life on useless things and live with the repercussions from his past. At least the choices are going to be easier to make, he thinks as he cautiously smiles up at his doppelganger. He is not going to waste his life anymore.

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_**A/N:**  
Let's play the 'Which one is Hikaru-kun game'._


End file.
